Surveillance
by N.Q. Wilder
Summary: The first encounter of Anderson and Shepard, shortly after the events on Torfan. A look at the psychological motivations of the young commander.


**This is fairly short, just a snapshot of what Anderson and Shepard's first encounter might have been like. The Shepard featured in this story is a full renegade with the earthborn/ruthless background to boot. She's not a nice person, though she has her reasons, which are touched upon in my other story "Confessions." However, this work can stand alone or be taken in conjunction with "Confessions." The POV in this story is also a little strange because I'm telling the story through the perspective of a surveillance tape, therefore I couldn't get into any character's head and the actions had to do all the telling. It was a fun experiment and a good challenge. My hope is that the character's emotions and motivations are clear despite the lack of internal thoughts.**

**A special shout out to Quietly-Confident who was the first to comment on this particular Shepard's voice. He/She pointed out that it was strange to have someone with Shepard's background talking with fairly advanced vocabulary and quoting works of literature. This piece is an explanation of Shepard's (what I am calling) "Donn Pearce" mentality. Donn Pearce is the author of "Cool Hand Luke," and I had the privilege of talking with him after reading his fantastic work. Pearce never went to college, spent some time in a French prison, and eventually became a successful author. He is a brilliant individual, but he seems to think that others do not believe that he is intelligent because he never went to college. Subsequently, he has read and studied multiple subjects and is constantly attempting to prove his worth. This Shepard is modeled off of Mr. Pearce in a lot of respects.**

**EDIT: Fixed some spelling and grammatical errors. So ashamed to discover they were there. Fixed now.**

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FOOTAGE TAKEN FROM CAMERA D34Z.5

LOCATION: OFFICE OF CAPTAIN DAVID ANDERSON, ARCTURUS STATION

DATE: 10.14.2178

PERMISSION TO ACCESS GRANTED BY: CLASSIFIED

"Please take a seat," Captain Anderson says as he gestures to an empty chair across from his desk.

The young officer standing stiffly in the doorway narrows her eyes at the chair before saying, "I prefer to stand, Sir."

There are a few seconds of tense silence as the officers stare each other down. Then Anderson says "Well, I prefer that you sit. If you would, Commander Shepard." He once more gestures to the empty chair and the woman begrudgingly walks into the office and takes a seat. She does not look around the room. Does not glance at the pictures of the captain's family on the desk. Does not bat an eye at the piles of papers sitting on top of the file cabinets. She seems to ignore the medals and military decorations on display behind the desk. Her green eyes stare straight ahead. The line of her jaw is tight.

Captain Anderson leans forward, folding his hands on the desk and asks, "Do you know why I asked you here, Commander?"

For the first time, the woman's eyes flick downward to the single file sitting on Anderson's desk. The glance is fleeting. "I have my suspicions, Sir," she answers coolly.

The captain nods, as if in agreement, and opens the file in front of him. The contents are out of view from the camera. "From what I've heard, you've had several meetings like this recently," he says. "You must be tired of them."

The commander doesn't respond. Her hands are clutching the arms of the chair. The grip is so tight that the veins in her hands are creating ridges that stretch to her forearms.

Anderson continues, "I'm sure the press coverage doesn't help either. It's a lot of scrutiny for someone so young." He taps his fingers on the open file. Shepard doesn't say anything. Eventually, he presses, "A lot of soldiers died on Torfan. It was your call, Commander. Why'd you make it?"

"It was the surest way to complete the mission," is the quick reply.

"What about alternatives?"

"Any alternatives carried a chance for failure. As the commanding officer, I made the tough call."

Anderson leans back in his chair and studies the woman's face. "You could have told Alliance command that the mission couldn't be completed at that time."

Shepard's upper lip curls into the vaguest of snarls, barely noticeable but still captured by the camera lens. "I'm not in the habit of second-guessing my superiors... Sir. I was told to take out the terrorists and given a squad to accomplish that task. I completed my mission."

"But a lot of soldiers died in the process."

Shepard averts her jade eyes briefly, but quickly returns them to the stare at the captain. "The risk all soldiers take. If the mission required that I sacrifice my life, then I would not be here. I take the same risk every time I enter battle."

Anderson nods slightly, leans forward again and thumbs through the file. "That's all I need to hear about Torfan." He scans the document quickly and says, "About your pre-service history: it says here you enlisted at eighteen?"

Shepard raises an eyebrow and asks, "You aren't going to ask me more about Torfan? I don't understand... What is this about, then?"

The captain looks up from the file. "This is an informal interview."

"For what?"

"I'm being assigned to a new ship - advanced design. I'm looking for a new XO."

The young officer's brows are furrowed heavily. Her back seems to ease a little, though she never leans back into the chair. She looks as if she is approaching a spring-loaded trap.

Anderson continues on, "So, is that correct? Age eighteen?"

Shepard nods. Her voice is cautious. "Yes, Sir."

"You're flagged here as having had gang affiliations. That also true?"

"Yes, Sir."

Anderson waits for an explanation, but Shepard offers none. "It also states that you've had no formal education. Can you read and write?"

For the first time in the interview, the woman bristles at the question; her shoulders tense and she blinks rapidly twice. "I can," she says.

"At what level?" Anderson presses, seemingly oblivious to the commander's reaction.

"What level would you like?" she answers, a hint of a challenge in her tone.

Anderson stares at her for a moment before opening the top drawer of the desk and pulling out an old, leather bound book. He slides it across the desk towards the commander. Gold letters flash in front of the lens for a split second. Sun Tzu's _The Art of War_. "Turn to page five. Read the first paragraph for me."

The commander slowly picks up the book and flips to the correct page. Her eyes drop to the text, scan it quickly, and then she looks back at Captain Anderson. With the book open before her, but without looking down, she recites the paragraph.

"The art of war, then, is governed by five constant factors, to be taken into account in one's deliberations, when seeking to determine the conditions obtaining in the field. These are: (1) The Moral Law; (2) Heaven; (3) Earth; (4) The Commander; (5) Method and discipline. The Moral Law causes the people to be in complete accord with their ruler, so that they will follow him regardless of their lives, undismayed by any danger. Heaven signifies night and day, cold and heat, times and seasons. Earth comprises distances, great and small; danger and security; open ground and narrow passes; the chances of life and death. The Commander stands for the virtues of wisdom, sincerity, benevolence, courage and strictness. Method and Discipline are to be understood the marshaling of the army in its proper subdivisions, the graduations of rank among the officers, the maintenance of roads by which supplies may reach the army, and the control of military expenditure. These five heads should be familiar to every general: he who knows them will be victorious; he who knows them not will fail."

They sit quietly for a few seconds before Anderson takes out a piece of paper and pen from the same drawer. He pushes the objects towards Shepard. "Write something for me," he commands.

She hesitates for a moment, then leans forward and begins scribbling fiercely on the paper. When she finishes, she slides both utensils back to the captain and resumes her stiff-backed vigil.

Anderson snatches up the loose-leaf and reads. Then he lets out a laugh, shaking his head. He reads aloud, "We wear the mask that grins and lies, it hides our cheeks and shades our eyes. This debt we pay to human guile, with torn and bleeding hearts we smile, and mouth with myriad subtleties." Again he shakes his head. "Where on earth did you learn these things?"

"I'm not stupid," Shepard mutters bitterly.

"So I see. Your past superiors mentioned that you are surprisingly eloquent." Shepard does not seem flattered by the comment. Anderson cocks his head and asks, "How did you teach yourself all of this?"

A disgusted expression crosses her face as she answers, "Have you ever heard the saying that all there is to do in prison is workout? That's not entirely true. There's also time to read. Of course, I was underage before I enlisted in the Alliance, but juvie is still a prison. An orphanage might as well be a prison too. And when you leave those places you can't take the books with you. You have to carry the words in your head or lose them forever. And have you ever wondered what kind of person runs a gang? It isn't the street thugs. Only the ambitious and smart ones live long enough to make it somewhere. I'll never have a college degree - hell, I'll never have a high school degree - but I'm not stupid."

Anderson leans forward slowly and asks, "Does it bother you? Knowing that for most people that will never be enough?"

Shepard is frozen. Silence permeates the air between them for a long while. Finally, she says, "It's useless to get upset over something like that. I just have to be better. Better than they thought. Better than them. Better than some slip of paper."

Anderson's voice is gentle, but insistent. "But you don't think most people can see past that slip of paper, do you. No matter what you accomplish." It isn't a question.

The commander averts her eyes and stares at her right hand which is still gripping the arm of the chair. After a moment the tightness there in the skin goes slack and the vein in her arm is no longer visible. Her nails stop digging into the leather of the chair. "I'm not stupid, Sir," she says with conviction, but lacking force.

Anderson leans back and studies the commander. His face is pensive. "No, you're not," he agrees. "I won't make the mistake of underestimating you again." He takes a deep breath and closes the file on the desk. "I think that's all I need for this interview. Thank you for coming by, Commander Shepard. You're dismissed."

Shepard eyes the file for a moment before rising to her feet and snapping a salute. She turns on her heels with calm precision and marches out of the office. Captain Anderson sits watching the door for a while, drumming his fingers on the desk. Then, he turns to face the camera and says, "Note to self: move Commander Shepard to priority one on list of candidates."


End file.
